


Your Love Is Anaemic

by FlashFlashFlash



Series: Anaemic!Patrick [1]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Anaemic!Patrick, Fainting, M/M, Pete is a darling, Peterick, Sickfic, Van Days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 14:56:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11210418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlashFlashFlash/pseuds/FlashFlashFlash
Summary: Anaemic!Patrick runs out of iron supplements on the road, and he can't stop the loop of that old rhyme his mother made up for him circling in his head.





	Your Love Is Anaemic

**Author's Note:**

> Not proofread... Oops?

"Shit!" Patrick muttered as he rummaged through his wash bag on the middle row of the van's seats, across from Joe. "Shit, no, this can't happen!" 

"What's up, Lunchbox?" Pete asked from the passenger seat. The car bumbled along, humming as Andy turned each corner. 

"I think I'm out of my supplements," Patrick said cautiously, emptying out the black zip-up pouch onto the seat between him and Joe. His iron supplements were everything to him; they kept him upbeat, and, perhaps more importantly when one was attempting to make it in the music business, in an upright position, rather than on the floor, head spiralling and bile rising. 

"It's okay, we'll stop and get you some more," Pete shrugged. 

Now, Patrick knew that he loved his boyfriend to bits, he really did, but he also realised that Pete still had no idea just how important his iron supplements were. Patrick's anaemia had been severe since he started going through puberty, when he'd begun randomly passing out, experiencing low mood and extreme fatigue. His mum had drilled a medication routine into his head by having him recite it every morning since that fateful day they had returned from the doctor's office, bag of pills in hand. Since, Patrick had switched between many types of supplements, but had settled on the nicest-tasting, most widely available tablets for the tour. These pills were also huge, and expensive as fuck, but didn't make him want to be sick, unlike most others, which Patrick thought was a plus. 

"Once in the morning," he remembered his mother chanting to him as he swallowed the first pill, or, sometimes, shot of sour liquid that burned his tongue and made him retch. 

"Once at night," he'd follow, like a devout Christian reciting the Lord's Prayer. 

"Two pills a time," Patricia had often handed him a glass of water, following the first almost-vomit. 

"To keep me upright," Patrick gulped, either picking his backpack up for school or pulling covers over his body. Patrick could almost feel his mother kissing his head, hear her sighing with relief when everything around them stayed dry, sense her hand movement, ready to rub his back when he coughed, or couldn't sleep. 

But, Patrick's mother was miles away, at home, in Chicago, while his fingers ghosted over an empty cardboard pill box, and his iron levels dwindled. Pete was talking again. 

"When did you last take them?" 

"Last night, maybe?" Patrick frowned, turning another packet of medication over in his previously free hand. "I definitely took two of something, but it might have been the migraine meds; that one last night was really bad." 

"Alright, that's not too bad," Joe shrugged, changing the song on his MP3. 

"I'll pull over at the next gas station," Andy seemed infinitely more relaxed than Patrick, whose chest was growing tighter by the second. "We can get you some more there, 'kay?" 

"You're gonna be fine, Lunchbox. Don't worry," Pete smiled. 

Patrick wasn't so sure about that. 

His head felt lighter than usual, and his eyes tingled with an unmistakable, 'catch me, I'm going to pass out' feeling. When he checked his watch, it read 13:08, much later than he usually took his supplements, especially considering he was ninety-nine percent sure he'd missed his dose last night. Upon pulling up at the gas station, Joe unbuckled himself and jumped from the van as soon as Andy clicked the child-lock (yes, child-lock) off, leaving Patrick to shuffle across the seats. 

Pete was already stood, hand outstretched, perhaps suspecting that Patrick may feel a little wobbly, waiting for his boyfriend to take it as aid while he crawled towards him. Patrick's fingers were beginning to go numb, with a sensation reminiscent of pins and needles. He ducked his head to exit the van, and it jolted as Andy slammed the driver's door shut. Patrick felt his stomach dive like a hungry bird for its prey, and vision teeter on the edge of a pirouette. 

"Pete, I don't think I can," he breathed, feeling suffocated in his clothing. 

"You're okay," Pete said gently. "Come on," his soft voice moulded itself around Patrick's pounding ears. 

"I think I'll pass out," Patrick swallowed his breakfast for the second time. 

"We're not rushing you, honey. Take your time." 

"I honestly don't feel good," Patrick all but panted, placing one foot in the ground, no longer sat down, but crouched awkwardly in the car doorway. "Please, Pete, I feel really unwell," he shuddered, closing his eyes. Pete's arms coded around his waist, supporting his weight until Patrick was sat on the floor, back against the van and head between his knees. 

"Are you okay?" Pete asked cautiously, after a few seconds. Patrick groaned in response. "I'll take that as a no, then." 

"Hey, we got Cheetos! Woah, Patrick, are you okay?" Joe bounded over to the scene, stopping in his tracks. 

"He's feeling dizzy," Pete said. "You wanna stand up, now?" No, Patrick didn't want to stand up, but he also didn't want to hold the band back over something so silly. 

"Yeah, uh, I think so," he said, slowly leaning his head back against the van. Pete take both of his hands and pulls him up, way too quickly for Patrick's liking, and the fading feeling that follows is worrying. His world feels like it's about to crumble, like it has done so many times before. Patrick remembered playing the trumpet in the school marching band at fourteen, going for a high note and collapsing shortly afterwards. The bullies had fun with that one. "St-stop." 

"You alright?" Pete already seemed aware that the answer was no, and wrapped an arm around Patrick's waist, taking his weight on as his brain gave up, and his form folded towards the floor. "You're okay, Lunchbox, you're okay," Pete panicked, lowering Patrick's body a little further. His dead weight was much harder to bear now than it had been when Pete had carried him from the hotel lobby to their hotel room bridal style in a 'let's have romantic sex' spur of the moment. "Patrick, honey, can you hear me?" He asked as Joe came to help lay Patrick down on the gravel of the parking lot floor. Pete kneeled beside Patrick's shoulders, brushing the hair from his face as he came to, groaning. 

"I'm sorry," he said, quietly wondering if he would need to be sick. 

"Hey, it's okay," Pete leaned down, kissing Patrick's lips lightly. "I love you, even if you do faint on me."

"Love you, too," Patrick only managed to mumble, feeling like all he wanted was sleep. Joe cleared his throat. 

"I'm gonna go see if they've got any iron supplements, I'll take the empty box. What do I do if there aren't any?" 

"Buy a shit ton of chocolate and nuts," Patrick forced out. His mother had always given him chocolate and nuts when he fainted, because the doctor said they were high in iron, and they weren't going to argue with that.

When Joe and Andy returned, Patrick was back in the car, nuzzled into a blanket cocoon that Pete had built around him. Pete stroked Patrick's hair and kissed him gently, as though he might break. Andy dumped eight different types of chocolate bars onto Patrick's lap, through the open window. Joe passed an almost comically large bag of mixed nuts to Pete. 

"No luck, I take it," Pete sighed, pulling open the plastic in the bag of nuts while Andy and Joe climbed into the passenger and driver's seats respectively. 

"They had omega 3 tablets for kids, but that was as close as we got," Joe said, turning the key in the ignition and slamming the car door shut. "Are you gonna be okay, Patrick?" 

Patrick smiled sadly. 

"Me? I'm always okay."


End file.
